


Gems Don't Glow For All

by aphVirginia



Category: LazyTown
Genre: Blood and Gore, Elf Sportacus (LazyTown), Fae Robbie Rotten, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Number Eight might show up but if he does then he'll be the asshole hero tbh, Number Nine isn't an asshole in here, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Suicide, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-13
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 04:55:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9305834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aphVirginia/pseuds/aphVirginia
Summary: Robbie tries to do an incredibly stupid thing. Sportacus remembers a valuable lesson about how his crystal works. Things get worse before they get better.This'll be a slowburn fic because I live for that shit. Also contains Fae!Robbie and Elf!Sportacus.





	1. Stay In The Dark (You Found Me)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everyone! I've been writing this while loopy on sleep medication, so if words don't make sense then please let me know! I'm not the most observant when it comes to catching mistakes from the get-go and I did not have a beta reader for this fic.
> 
> Anyways, I hope you all enjoy!
> 
>  
> 
> Side note--I'll post updates for this fic on my tumblr, land-of-dragons-and-frogs.tumblr.com

_“Now Sportacus, the gems we have only have one true weakness. It’s something they won’t pick up on until it becomes hazardous to the individual inflicted with it.” He could remember his mentor’s voice clearly; Number Nine had had an incredibly solemn facial expression, and had used a soft tone of voice that demanded all his attention and focus._

_“What is it?”_

_“Mental illnesses. Of any variation.”_

 

* * *

 

To say that Sportacus is prepared for everything would be an overstatement. He was, after all, a Slightly Above Average Hero; not even the best of the best were prepared for each and every scenario. Sure, he could teach the children in the town that climbing trees and getting stuck was a bad idea, along with what constituted a healthy meal. However… there were things he couldn’t teach them.

He never fully learned how to explain mental illnesses to others, let alone how to help handle them. Sure, it was basic training that everyone had to go through; he just… wasn’t the best at it. Sure, he knew the basics on some of the most common mental illnesses, but he was by no means a therapist.

There was a reason he was only a slightly above average hero: The true, top-tier heroes could switch to being someone’s therapist at the drop of a hat if they had to. What’s the point of saving the world if you couldn’t save one person?

 

These thoughts swamped his mind, had him tossing and turning as sleep eluded him. He did his best to be in bed at 8:08 pm sharp; it was currently 11:46. He was tired—his body and mind yearned for sleep, yet it kept eluding him. He wasn’t sure why, either.

It had been such a long time since he’d had to handle any sort of mental illness that’d he’d begun to hope that he wouldn’t have to handle it until after he left Lazytown. He couldn’t think of anyone who might be suffering from the few mental illnesses he could remember, depression being key among them. The children seemed to have their own host of smaller issues that he’d done his best to nip at the bud (Stingy especially—he didn’t want to have to dig the kid out of piles of stuff one day), and the adults seemed to be handling things well. Of the few adults he knew that had issues, all were taken care of and had been handling things with therapy and occasionally medication.

His mind began drifting, wondering why he was still thinking about this. Perhaps… perhaps he was missing someone? Quickly, he ran through a mental checklist: Stephanie, Stingy, Trixie, Ziggy, Pixel, Ro—

His crystal flashed, letting out a soft glow and a noise; instinctively, he was able to ping the location of the danger. From all the times his crystal had gone off before he knew the danger was in, if not close to, Robbie’s lair.

“What did you get up to this time...” He spoke with a sigh, exhaustedly pulling on his uniform before guiding his airship to where the lair was; he was far too tired to flip there like he usually would.

He guided the aircraft to a spot a few yards from Robbie’s home. He knew he was too tired to be able to get back into his airship the usual way; he lowered a rarely-used ramp leading down to the soft grass near Robbie’s home. His crystal was still going off, yet it retained its speed. Perhaps Robbie had gotten caught in an unfinished machine, or maybe the other had managed to get stuck in one of those costume tubes…

 

Sportacus didn’t bother with knocking on the door to Robbie’s home; instead, he opened the entrance and jumped down and ignored the feeling of unease that settled deep in his bones. He didn’t have time for that.

He landed on something soft and squishy, which he knew from experience was Robbie’s armchair; he couldn’t see Robbie. It was odd; usually, he would find Robbie either from landing on the man or from hearing the banging and clanging of inventing. However, the villain’s lair echoed with a sense of desperation and the loudest scream of absolute silence.

His footsteps echoed in the nearly-empty room like raindrops rippling in a still pond, traversing a path towards the epicenter of the lair’s aura was emitting. It was suffocating in an unfamiliar way: Sportacus was not drowning and could still breathe, but his emotions seemed to be submerged in a thick layer of the emotional equivalent of quicksand.

He hesitated in front of a door. Had he not followed his gut instinct, he wouldn’t have known it was there. It was tucked behind a rather tall and foreboding piece of equipment, invisible to the naked eye unless one knew where to look.

He reached for the knob, and paused.

His crystal’s panicked vibrations picked up speed; whatever was behind this door was something indescribably _bad_.

Against everything within him that screamed for him to leave, to flee, to get on his airship and get the hell out of dodge, he opened the door.

 

 

Sportacus stared, confusion run rampant in his mind. Robbie was… Well, Robbie seemed fine. Confused, dripping wet from a shower, but fine. It just… didn’t add up.

“… What in the ever-loving fuck are you doing in my lair.” Robbie did not mince words, nor did he phrase it as a question. It was undoubtedly an order, though not an urgent command. It lacked a weight that was normal in his voice.

His crystal beeped loudly at him, urgency forcing him to pay more attention to details in a matter of nanoseconds. Something wasn’t right. Even without his crystal, he could sense it. _Something_ felt off….

First, he took in Robbie’s appearance. The taller man’s hair was wet and flattened down, chest and arms exposed. Everything below the waist and above the knee was hidden behind a black towel that was wrapped around the other’s waist. He doubted the wrong thing was underneath that towel; based on the urgency of his crystal, Robbie would have needed to have quite literally broken a leg and have the bone pierce the skin.

Sportacus next took in the bathroom. It lacked the warmth of a fresh shower, a complete contrast to Robbie’s appearance. The mirrors weren’t fogged and the shower wasn’t wet; if he had to guess, the towel wrapped around Robbie’s waist would be bone-dry. Perhaps it wasn’t Robbie? There was a whole slew of beauty products strewn across the countertop, ranging from varying shades of purple eyeshadow to lipsticks to at least 3 bottles of some sort of concealer. There was also a rather odd-shaped container—it looked like a pencil sharpener. Perhaps it was for eyeliner?

He spotted it out of the corner of his eye. A small detail, yet inexplicably important: A single drop of blood. It was still wet, still smearable as it perched precariously on the edge of the sink.

“My… My crystal went off. It's, ah, _still_ going off. Robbie… What’s wrong?” Sportacus could hear the worry, the concern, the raw fear in his voice. His crystal’s screaming in his ears nearly brought him to his knees; he needed to focus, damnit!

“Nothing’s wrong, Sportaflop. Just… Get out.” Robbie flicked his wrist as he spoke, a dismissive gesture that under normal circumstances would have caused Sportacus to leave with a smile and well-wishes. These were very obviously _not_ normal circumstances.

There was the faint sound of something wet splattering the wall behind him; if Sportacus had to guess, it was very likely blood. The scent of iron filled his nostrils. He forced himself to focus.

“Robbie…” He paused. He sensed… A glamour. Of Fae creation. It certainly wasn’t one of his own, so who…

 **Robbie**.

 

The world snapped.

Everything tilted on its axis, and he felt nauseous. Instinctively, he clamped his eyes shut; he leaned heavily on the door frame for support. Faintly, he heard Robbie speak; he didn’t hear the words, but knew that they were magic in some way. He focused his own personal magic on clearing the effects of unknowingly breaching a highly skilled glamour. He combated the affects for what felt like an eternity, trying to push them away to no avail.

And suddenly, it was gone. Almost as if…

As if the person who created the glamour removed it.

His crystal was blaring at him, it’s screaming so loud in his head that he could feel his bones vibrating. _Help help help need to help need to save **need to help** —_

He opened his eyes.


	2. Eyes Wide Open

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I had to double and triple-check that this chapter happened how I wanted it to. Also I'm suuuper loopy on sleep meds right now, so please let me know if y'all spot any typos that I missed before uploading this!!
> 
> Also, wow!!! 500 views in the span of about 2 days! I love each and every one of you, and I hope you all have lovely days today ^w^
> 
> Special thank you to the folks who chose to leave comments on my first chapter. Y'all are the reason this one is out now rather than a week from now <3

Sportacus took a step back, hands flying to cover his mouth with shock. His eyes welled with unspilled tears, fear and a strong urge to protect overriding the cries from his crystal. In the moment his eyes opened, he came to understand three simple things.

One: Robbie was… Well, he was fae. He appeared to be some sort of faun and fairy hybrid. Goat legs complete with cloven hooves were visible from beneath the towel; above the towel was a pair of purple and blue fairy wings that glittered in the feeble light. The man’s skin was far paler than usual, though the cause was obvious.

Two: The makeup on the counter was replaced with blades. Serrated knives, small pencil sharpener blades, a handful of blades so small that they must have been pried from disposable razors, exacto knives and various blade sizes, at least two scalpels, and he could even see a (thankfully untouched) butcher’s knife. They cluttered the countertop, almost covering the entire thing.

Three: There was blood everywhere. The stench of Copper was enough to make anyone feel sick. Sportacus held his breath, trying to stop the tears threatening to escape his eyes. Robbie’s arms and chest had cuts all over, many of them still oozing blood. There were several that went down to the bone, a handful slicing clean through some vital veins. The other had several muscles that had been cut open; Sportacus thanked his lucky stars that the left-hand side of the Fae wasn’t as badly damaged as the right-hand side. He wasn’t sure why Robbie’s abdomen remained cut-free, but he could guess it had to do with being interrupted. The crimson blood dripping down Robbie’s pale skin was a macabre display. The poignant silence that had settled over the bathroom made it even more foreboding.

Robbie held a small razor between his fingers, poised to add another cut to the far too large collection of gashes on his body. There were too many to count, and all Sportacus could do was stand there, frozen in shock and horror.

“R-Robbie—“ Sportacus finally choked out, shattering the silence in the room. He took a step closer and reached towards the other with shaky hands. “Robbie, p-please…”

Robbie looked up at Sportacus, then back down at the blade. He held still, watched the elf carefully take his hand between the two shaky, scared ones.

“You shouldn’t have to see this.” He said softly, gently, as the blade was pried from between his fingers. Sportacus set it on the countertop, a faint clink echoing through the nearly silent room.

Sportacus didn’t hear the words Robbie was saying. His ears were buzzing, his vision tunneling in on all the damage he’d have to repair. Hundreds of cuts, more blood than was even remotely healthy outside of the other’s body—Mentally, he found himself reaching out for his mentor. Asking, pleading to borrow some of the other’s magic so that he could repair the situation he’d been blind to.

His mentor responded with what he could only guess was a sort of stern nod, as the other wasn’t in the room. Magic coursed through his veins, far more than he would likely need. Absently, he made a mental note to thank his mentor later on.

He recalled the conversation he and his mentor had shared all those years ago.

 

* * *

 

_“Now Sportacus, the gems we have only have one true weakness. It’s something they won’t pick up on until it becomes hazardous to the individual afflicted with it.”_

_“What is it?”_

_“Mental illnesses. Of any variation.”_

_“Why?”_

_“Because our crystals only respond to physical problems. Mental issues can become physical and cause them to go off, but those tend to be… not pretty, to say the least. Sometimes they won’t pick up on easily unnoticed symptoms like self harm and people not eating.”_

_“Wouldn’t they notice the distress of the person?”_

_“Our crystals find those who want to be saved, Sportacus. Sometimes a person doesn’t wish to be saved.”_

_“I… don’t understand. Why would someone not want to be saved?”_

_“It’s complicated. Some individuals feel that they aren’t worth saving which can override their wish to be saved. Others do not wish to be saved because they do not realize that something is wrong.”_

_“If… If our crystal doesn’t tell us when this happens, then how do we know when something like this happens?”_

_“You have to watch for it. Look for signs that something isn’t right. Trust your gut instinct.”_

_“What do I do if someone has to deal with a mental illness?”_

_“That depends entirely on the situation, the illness, and how you found out. Sometimes the best you can do is to be there to listen. Let whomever it is know that you care.”_

 

* * *

 

“Robbie…” He breathed out, gathering himself. Fear and panic tipped the mental balance in favor of protection, saving; He needed to focus to do the best he could. “Where’s your emergency medical kit?”

“Kitchen, bottom cabinet under the sink and on the left. Big black and yellow toolbox. Can’t miss it.” Robbie’s voice was drained, weakened, exhausted, and still terrifyingly emotionally dead. A touch less terrifying since somehow the man was still standing—if he had to guess, Sportacus would estimate the blood loss at about two liters. Which was… Bad. Very, very bad.

The fact that Robbie could speak without slurring words was a good sign. If he could stop the bleeding, then the man would be just fine. At least, that’s what he told himself.

“Okay. Are you dizzy? Can you walk?” Sportacus didn’t look at the blades. If he did, he’d lose focus. He needed to help Robbie now, not after the panic attack that he knew would happen if he took the time to really think over the situation.

“… Yes and yes.” He carefully lifted one of Robbie’s arms, draping it over his shoulders and ignoring the blood staining his costume.

“Come on. Let me know if something changes; I need to get you to your kitchen so I can help you.” Robbie nodded, swallowing down his dread. He leaned most of his weight on the shorter man, doing his best to walk without stumbling. Sportacus could guide him, he just needed to move. He didn’t focus on how the world spun in kaleidoscopes around him, how the soft glow of moonlight seemed to be swirling in front of him like a mirage. If he did, he’d stop moving, and it’d make Sportacus ask questions that he didn’t have the energy to answer.

Sportacus helped Robbie walk towards the kitchen, relieved to find that it was far closer than he thought it’d be. He carefully laid the damaged fae on the floor, taking a few precious seconds to be gentle with the wings, before locating the medical kit.

“Sportacus… I think I’m gonna pass out.” Robbie’s voice was nearly a whisper, so soft that Sportacus would have missed it if he hadn’t seen the man’s lips moving.

“Try to stay awake for as long as you can, Robbie.” He wished he was as calm as he sounded. It didn’t seem to matter: the man slipped into unconsciousness as soon as the last word left this lips.

Sportacus shook his head, pulling the medical kit out from under the sink and flipping it open to assess what items he had at his disposal. Inside was a whole host of medical supplies: thermometers, bandages, sterile needles with thread for doing stitches at home, a handful of braces for broken and sprained limbs and fingers, along with several other items that he didn’t know the uses of. There were also several bottles of medication that he didn’t bother looking at. He knew that at least some of it was pain medication and made a mental note to have Robbie take some later.

He pulled out the bandaging and the needles and thread, hesitating momentarily before carefully setting these items on the countertop.

“Fuck…” Sportacus muttered, unsure of where to start. He knew that he had a very limited amount of time to heal Robbie, but there was so much damage…

_“Use the magic.”_ He jumped, startled; there was no one else in the room, let alone his mentor.

“… Íþróttaálfurinn?” Sportacus asked softly, incredibly confused.

_“The one and only.”_ He’d never been so relieved to hear his mentor’s voice.

“How—“

_“You left your mental link open when you asked for my magic.”_ His mentor interrupted, seeming to already know the question he was about to ask. _“Hurry up, you don’t have much time left to help him. You’ll want to magically heal his veins and deep cuts first while manually cleaning out the smaller ones.”_

Sportacus sprang to action, gathering the bandages and applying pressure to a patch of the bloody gashes on Robbie’s chest. His fingertips softly glowed green with the combined magic at his disposal, cocooning the taller man within it. He watched with gross fascination as veins and muscle knitted themselves back together, leaving behind tender skin and a fresh scar; it took far more magic than he had expected to heal the deepest cut.

_“Focus, Sportacus. You’ll run out of magic before your work is done, but don’t use your reserves.”_ He nodded at the words, hands mechanically bandaging shallow cuts as his magic repaired the worst of the damage.

 

He ran out of magic, as his mentor had said he would.

 

He did not stop bandaging the wounds.

 

He did not notice his mentor’s presence leaving his mind, as if shutting a door as one leaves a room.

 

He did not notice when his vision became fuzzy from exhaustion.

 

He finished bandaging Robbie’s wounds.

 

Carefully, Sportacus scooped Robbie into his arms. He made his way towards what he hoped was a bedroom, doing his best to open the door without dropping his villain.

 

... Storage.

_Fuck_.

 

He tried the next door, pretending that his walking wasn’t wobbly or that the world was getting fuzzy at the edges.

 

Bedroom.

 

He carefully laid Robbie out on the bed, tucking the man in before making his way to the other side of the bed.

He laid down on the bed, gently draping an arm over Robbie’s unharmed stomach.

A quick nap would do him some good.

…

..

.

Sportacus fell asleep, not noticing Robbie beginning to stir.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter was basically me going "How much blood has Robbie lost and how much time does that leave him with" and basically Robbie is Very Lucky To Still Be Alive.
> 
> Also it's way past Sport's bedtime, poor baby. Then again, I stayed up until 4am writing this yesterday; Sportacus needs much sleep, poor elf baby.


End file.
